


Well Enough

by nishizono



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes a note that apparently, calling someone a 'shade' is offensive (or it is if you're Snape, anyway, and offended by pretty much everything).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Enough

“You do realize that despite the way some people treat you, you're not actually royalty, don't you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry laughs and flops down into the chair behind his desk. The crown on his head slips down over one eye, and he grins at Snape's portrait from underneath it.

Snape huffs and crosses his arms. “What have you done with your glasses?”

“This is the most brilliant Halloween party the Ministry's ever thrown,” says Harry. He's more than a little bit tipsy, so he's surprised when the words come out clear. “Ron's being Lancelot, and Hermione is Guinevere.”

“Fascinating. And I suppose you fancy yourself King Arthur.”

Harry sags a bit in his chair. “I think I left my glasses downstairs.”

“Three minutes behind in the conversation as usual, Potter.”

“You could call me Harry,” says Harry, even though he knows Snape will never call him that any more than he'll call Snape 'Severus'.

Snape just rolls his eyes.

“Y'know,” says Harry, “sometimes I wish you were real, that you were actually in there--” he gestures to the portrait “-- and not just a uhm-- what's it called?”

Snape looks unimpressed, as usual. He doesn't bother to help Harry find the word, which is probably fair, since Harry's not really giving him much to go on.

“Like a memory, you know, or a shade or whatever,” says Harry.

“I don't think that word means what you think it means, Potter, because I most certainly am not a shade.” Snape draws himself up and squares his shoulders, and Harry makes a note that apparently, calling someone a 'shade' is offensive (or it is if you're Snape, anyway, and offended by pretty much everything). “Furthermore, as to the implication that I'm not _real_ , the fact that I'm not currently in possession of a body doesn't mean I'm not _real_. I suppose it was an oversight on my part to expect you to have learned anything from being dead, however short-lived the experience may have been.”

“So wait,” says Harry, waving a finger around in front of Snape's portrait. “You're saying you're real.”

Snape just presses his mouth together in a thin line and glares at him.

“So this isn't just--” Harry pushes to his feet, sways a little, and then pokes the portrait's frame a couple of times “--it's not some kind of-- what was it? Where the painter just puts some of your essence in the portrait, I mean... But you're saying this is actually _you_?”

“You know, Potter, I can't tell you how thankful I am that the fate of our world wasn't contingent solely on your cognitive abilities.”

“So if you're in there...” Harry runs his fingers over the gilded frame. He's drunk, but not so drunk the implications are lost on him. “If you're in there, and it's really you, then maybe I could...”

“No, Potter, you can't,” says Snape with a tired sigh.

Now it's Harry's turn to go silent. He blinks at Snape a few times, then shakes his head, which turns out to be a mistake when the room starts to spin.

“Oh for heaven's sake, sit down before you fall down,” says Snape. Once Harry has obediently tumbled backwards into his chair, Snape conjures a wingback into his portrait and takes a seat as well, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers in front of him. He eyes Harry, then sighs again. “I'm aware of what a waste it is to have this conversation with you in your current state, but suffice it to say that what you're thinking of isn't possible. My body is dead, and has been for ten years.”

“But if we could--”

“Could what, Potter?” Snape raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. “Human beings have been looking for ways to defeat death since the moment we were evolved enough to understand it. If there were a way for you to bring me back, I'm sure better minds than yours would have already thought of it.”

Harry knew Snape was probably right, but he couldn't resist pouting, just a little.

“Spare me the adolescent wheedling, Potter,” says Snape. “I'm flattered by your no doubt guilt-driven desire to resurrect me, but I assure you that as death goes, mine could be worse.”

Harry lets his head fall to one side and studies Snape. “Y'know, I'd have thought being stuck in my office would've been more like hell.”

“Then your decision to put me here is a clear testament to the regards in which you hold me.”

Harry laughs. “No, no, I hadn't even thought of that until now. It's not something I did on purpose; I was being selfish when I put you here, I guess. I mean, it was my fault you died in the first place, so...”

“No, Potter, it was the Dark Lord's fault I died,” says Snape. There's an edge to his voice that Harry recognizes, but for once, it's not meant for him.

“I could put you somewhere else,” says Harry, though the thought of moving Snape from his office makes his stomach hurt.

“Shut up, Potter,” says Snape. He lets his head fall back against the back of his chair and looks at Harry for a moment before saying, “Tell me about the party.”

Harry grins.


End file.
